


Red sky at morning

by feyrelay



Series: Red Sky at Morning, Sailors Take Warning [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Character Study, F/F, F/M, M/M, Spoilers, The 100 (TV) Season 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 09:53:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18280745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feyrelay/pseuds/feyrelay
Summary: "Losing it a little."Because when is Clarke not?This series will contain s6 speculation, Clarke Griffin apologism, A/B/O dystopia, and eventual Bellarke.





	Red sky at morning

**Author's Note:**

> Originally this was planned as a series of loosely connected one-shots, but now this will just serve as a lil' tiny character study/preview for a longfic requested by a dear friend, i.e. part 2 of this series.

“I’m so tired of you saying you’re sorry, Clarke,” Raven says, angry and defeated. And hurt.

And Clarke can’t help it, because in a room with this many people -- with _this many people_ between her and Madi -- she can’t _think_. It’s just _so much_ after years alone with her daughter followed by an adrenaline-fueled fight for survival -- one where new alliances had sprung up around her like the most ambitious bamboo, nature’s own prison bars -- and her social batteries are drained (corroded) and her verbal filter is _gone_ -

“Well, I am too,” she rebuts. “Maybe I’ll stop doing it then.”

And the crowd goes wild.

“What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?” Shaw jumps in, quick to defend Raven.

Madi squares up in response, voice heavy with teenaged sarcasm, something Clarke has missed from her lately, “You don’t get an opinion, _splita_. You’ve been on our side, what, like a day? You’re only _kru_ by betrayal and...” Madi’s bright eyes flicker between Shaw and Raven, “... what passes for marriage, I guess.”

Clarke hears Lexa’s cadence behind Madi’s younger, more brash tone. She tries not to feel. And, as always, thinking of Lexa makes her think of Finn (though she never has dared to bring him up to Raven, before). She thinks maybe it’s time to change that.

“Madi, that’s enough,” she puts in. To Raven, “I shouldn’t have snapped. I just want you to know, that I _do_ have regrets. I _do_ try to make choices that don’t undermine yours. I remember how it felt, when Finn massacred that village and said it was all for me. I do things sometimes to save lives, and people’s morality and agency get sacrificed. And that’s wrong, and I’m so-”

Raven cuts her off, eyes wide. Clarke can practically see Raven’s defective heart beating out of her chest with rage. “Don’t say ‘sorry’ again and don’t say his _name_ -”

Bellamy steps up to her defense this time, and something tiny and delicate flowers in Clarke’s chest. “Maybe that’s the problem, Rave. Maybe we’ve all spent too much time _not_ saying the things that need to be said.”

Clarke barely manages to nod her thanks at him before she catches up to what he actually said, and the hysteria sets in. Bellamy, the one who doesn’t exactly _love_ nicknames -- he only tolerates ‘Bell’ from Octavia because they’re family -- giving Raven a nickname that shaves exactly one letter off, just strikes Clarke right in her weary, aching, malnourished funny bone.

She starts laughing, touching fingertips to her forehead like she can push at the bone and reignite her grasp on reality, and then tucks her hair behind her ear. Everyone’s watching her, but Murphy -- _bless him_ , Clarke thinks with gratitude -- suddenly speaks up and the spotlight shifts to him.

“Is that how it’s going to be, then? We all follow your lead just like old times, Bellamy and Clarke, now starring as camp Mom and Dad? Not that I have a problem with it,” he clarifies as Bellamy take a half-step toward him, quelling, “but I thought we might want to acknowledge it before the shit hits the fan, this time.”

Emori darts a quick glance between Raven and Murphy, Clarke notices. It looks like she’s deciding who to back. “I mean, Monty and Harper did decide to wake them up and ask them to take care of Jordan. Do you think maybe they had a preference as to leadership?”

Clarke bundles Madi into her side at that, noticing how her daughter bristles at the mention of ‘leadership’. Or maybe, at the idea that Jordan is sort of like her older brother now. Clarke wouldn’t mind another little reminder of the girl still inside the Commander’s head. (Wishful thinking.)

Raven, though, snorts. She tosses her long hair like the mane of a restless horse, unused to having it out of her signature ponytail. She looks Clarke dead in the eye and says, “Do you honestly think that makes you the new Harper?”

“No,” Clarke breathes, quiet and non-committal in the face of Raven’s bluster, which she’s sure is a cover for mourning. On the heels of her denial, Echo speaks, touching her lower stomach in a gesture Clarke doesn’t understand.

“It should have been me; I have more in common with Harper than she does, honestly, what with the, you know…”

But Shaw doesn’t like Echo, either. “From what I’ve heard, Harper wasn’t so heartless as you-”

Clarke, thinking of Lexa again, jumps to Echo’s defense, “She’s a warrior, but she’s not-”

Her words are unwelcome. Raven lets her know, with no uncertainty, “You don’t get to say anything about being heartless or not, _Wanheda_.”

And Clarke reels back as if slapped.

In the short beat of silence that follows, Jordan -- of all people -- raises his hand as if he’s in school. Clarke gets a flash of Monty sitting with him, teaching him to read, and nearly pitches herself headlong into despair.

But Murphy, able to find the slim lining of humor to every clouded conversation, calls on him officiously. “You may speak, Jordan kom... Marperkru.”

Jordan favors them all with Harper’s smile, but rubs at the back of his neck shyly, as unused to the crowded room as Clarke is -- moreso, even. He fingers the strap of his goggles at his neck, stretching the material so he can hold the goggles up for them all to see. “If Clarke was so heartless, I wouldn’t have these, from my namesake, would I?”

And, again, this is all too much. Jasper, oddly, is one of the deaths she feels more keenly, more responsible for, than any of the others who have died by her hand or her action. Clarke needs to say her piece and bounce, before she starts dissociating. Or crying. ( _Which would be more effective?_ her shadow self wonders, Machiavellian.)

“Look, Raven, think whatever you want about me. It’s clear I’ve lost your trust, and maybe that’s fair. But hear me and believe; years ago, I said I would pick you first. And I have, over and over.”

Echo makes a small sound, and Clarke can’t tell if it’s derisive or merely inquisitive, so she soldiers on, eyes flicking from Raven to Bellamy to Echo.

“I didn’t believe in love triangles then, and I don’t now. I don’t believe in giving up on the ones you love just because they’re in space and you’re on the ground. That was Finn’s mistake, not mine, and he more than paid for it. I learned from it. So, now, if you feel I’ve ever put you last, Raven, then just know that it wasn’t because I didn’t consider you my family anymore. Far from it. You’re Madi’s aunt, if you want to be, and nothing can take that away from you no matter how you and I disagree. But, if I have to put you last to put her first, I will. Every time. And I’m sorry if it hurt you, I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to see three moves ahead on the chessboard, I’m sorry that I couldn’t think of any better ideas, I’m sorry for all of that. But I’m never gonna be sorry for protecting my child, so. Don’t hold your breath.”

“Go float yourself, Clarke,” Raven spits reflexively, voice wavering, though her eyes and body language seem to tell a far softer story.

Clarke salutes loosely, then drops her hand to pat Madi’s shoulder, before saying, “Way ahead of you.”

She leaves. It doesn’t hurt.

(Clarke’s had worse pains, at least.)

\---

It’s Bellamy that comes and finds her where she’s sitting, back against an airlock door. Shocker.

“Talk to me, princess.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Clarke sighs. “Think I’ve done enough talking today,” she murmurs, rueful. She looks at the floor and lets her hair fall like a short, blonde curtain between them. It shields her from his gaze in the corner of her eye.

“Fine,” Bellamy allows. “Tell me about Madi. She’s strong.”

“She was already strong when I found her,” Clarke admits. “She didn’t need me to survive.”

“You sound like Indra talking about O,” he smiles, just a flash of one, before the good humor fades from his face. “Did you. Did you think about that a lot… her not needing you to survive?”

Clarke is quiet, weighing her words. She hopes they won’t be heavy enough to crush this gentle, blooming warmth. “Sometimes. But, I’m not going to hurt myself, Bellamy.”

“That’s not what I’m asking. I’m not asking if you _will_ ; I’m asking if you _did_. Clarke, those six years… they count. A lot has changed, and I won’t pretend like it didn’t. You shouldn’t either.”

 _How could I?_ she doesn’t ask. She shakes her head minutely, a tiny denial.

He reaches out and fingers at the flutter of her hair and its blunt cut. “Tell me about the dye, the paint, whatever. Tell me about drawing.” He drops his hand.

“It’s made from the berries; they stain something awful. And charcoal, well. After _Praimfaya,_  there was plenty of that.  _L_ _ouwadaklironkru_ was big on ornamentation and decoration. Bright colors, instead of whites and greys like _Azgeda_.”

“Sounds like a load of horseshit to me. I know you, and you’ve only ever dyed your hair to hide your identity. Strange when there wasn’t anyone left to hide from.”

Clarke turns to look at him, charmed in spite of herself at the feeling of being so _known_ \-- especially by another adult, and someone not-Madi -- and finds herself lingering on his own change in hairstyle, and that scrubby beard that had so shocked her, at first.

“It was just something to do, once we had enough food. The berries grow wild and are quick to upset the stomach so once we had enough, they were the first to be banished from the diet.”

He inclines his head, and Clarke’s mouth twists, caught-out. “I still know when you’re not telling the whole truth, although that was closer.”

“Fine. It’s because Madi liked it. Frivolous, maybe. But there you have it, Bellamy.”

He claps a hand to her knee. The sound startles her more than the touch. “That, that right there is how you make it back to Raven’s good graces. Show her how Madi has changed you. Let her see how your daughter weakens you and strengthens you at the same time. She’s built you up into this savior for six years and then a villain once we got back to the ground. Show her that you’re neither; you’re only human.”

Clarke tries very hard not to let her voice break on her next question. “How do you know that will work? Raven seems to have made up her mind.”

Bellamy laughs his snuffling half-laugh, wry and familiar. “Worked on you, didn’t it? Back when I was the big bad ‘Lord of the Flies’? You saw me for what I was: a desperate combination of parent and big brother.”

Clarke blows out a breath. That’s true.

Bellamy finally removes his hand from her knee and stands, then turns and offers her a hand up. “Come on, it’s algae time; then a strategy meeting. Sit and eat with me and Echo?”

Clarke swallows. “As long as Madi is welcome as well.”

Bellamy catches her eye, tilting his head a little to make sure she sees and hears him. “She always is.”

Clarke wants to believe.

(So she does.)


End file.
